


Still Wouldst Thou Sing

by LittleSilverBirds



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-06-05
Packaged: 2018-01-26 23:56:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1707260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleSilverBirds/pseuds/LittleSilverBirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"They shouldn’t even be looking at each other.<br/>And look at them both. Castiel’s cuffs buttoned on his white shirt, buttoned up to a sensible standard, and black slacks and shoes to match. While Dean sat in a black button down open to an absurd extent, with holey jeans and boots with scuffs on the toes. They were clearly out of each others leagues."</p><p>For my friend, who has a love of AU's and a thing for the whole forbidden love trope</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Within a Dark Woods

His family were usually quiet, keeping to themselves. Had been for years and years.

Only, at some point, they attracted the attention of the Winchesters, which was very bad. And Castiel inherited a house from some far off uncle, got an office job to pay bills, and moved there. He’d rather be away from his family even if it meant being close to the Winchesters. John came to Castiels house, brought his cocky son, who kept giving Castiel these looks. He told him straight if he didn’t keep away from his family he’d handle it himself and it wouldn’t be very pretty, it’d be bloody. His son lingered after he left, and wandered over to the table were Castiel sat, pulling out a chair for himself.

“Big house you got,” he said, giving Cas the once over, “Must have plenty of bedrooms.”

Castiel glared, “Is that a pick up line, because its not at all subtle.”

“What? No,” he smiled lopsidedly, “Not at all. If it was, would it work?”

He chewed the inside of his cheek, thinking how the man before him wasn’t unattractive, his only downfall being his dad, just came in here and basically threatened him. He was guilty by association.

“Buy me a drink first,” he replied, trying for humour and probably missing it by a mile.

“Its a date, then,” the cocky asshole grinned at him. Castiel had to admit though, he was either really sneaky or really good at this.

“Wait a minute, I don’t even know your name and you’re-“

“Dean,” he got up, taking his leave toward the door, “So, Saturday, the Midnight at seven? Good.”

And he was gone. Whatever the fuck that’d been, he thought he had a deathwish and a date somehow. He definitely had work tomorrow, though, so he ran his hands through his hair once more feeling the tangles catch in his fingers. Castiel dragged himself upstairs, through the halls with furniture wrapped in plastic sheets and creepy pictures. His uncle had been an eccentric, and Castiel was still discovering new rooms with new things. He used to tell Castiel he had a dungeon, but he hadn’t found that one yet.

He knew the purpose of tonights little visit had been to shake him up and use fear to drill it in. He wasn’t that phased, he had an older brother and several older cousins who used just the same tactic and it never worked. And he hated them just as much.

* * *

He couldn’t believe he actually turned up, but hell what did he have to lose?

The Midnight was a more or less a bar halfway to a club but still more of a bar, but he still didn’t like places like this. Last time he’d been out was with his last girlfriend, who left him two years ago. He’d never been out with a man before, and he assumed this wasn’t a casual night out for Dean. Especially considering when he found him Dean commented on how he looked, and hovered a hand over his waist. But once he had a beer in his hand, Castiel found himself relaxing a little. His family had been worse than usual this week.

Dean leaned over in the dim purple lighting and murmured something in his ear, “Having fun yet?”

Cas swore he sneaked a brush of his lips on his cheek as he pulled back to look at him, and suddenly he found himself increasingly entranced by Dean and his mannerisms. The little upward quirk of his lips when he smiled, the tilt to his head as he asked a question, the way he opened his drink.

He looked at his drink instead, “Starting to, yeah.”

Castiel felt Deans arm settle on the seat behind his head, “Tell me, you don’t look like some evil dude intent on destroying my family.”

“What _do_ I look like?”

Dean scooted away from him, cocking his head a little, and Castiel started to feel like he was being judged. But he smiled and moved back, leaning closer again.

“Well,” he said to be heard over the music, “You’re dressed smart, shirt tucked in and everything. You look a lil’ bit out of place here, actually. I’d say you’re more like a straight A student with a stable job than what d- John thinks you are.”

“Impressive.”

“C’mon,” Dean pressed, taking another drink, “I want to know more. Any brothers? Sisters? I’ve got a brother, but he’s at Stanford most of the year.”

Castiel found himself leaning a little toward Dean for some reason as he spoke, “I have one older brother and a little sister. I cant stand my family though, so I moved away as soon as I could.”

Dean hummed, “The only one in my family I like’s my brother, and he hates me most of the time. So whats your day job?”

“Uh, just a boring old office job. I have everything I need to get a job as a teacher, but...”

Dean nodded and stared at the table, “I part-time as a mechanic, it keeps my flat.”

They talked like that for a while, just exchanging information like friends, which they were not. Even if Dean had bought him a drink he wasn’t looking for anything past tonight. They couldn’t have it anyway, not given what Deans dad thought of Cas, and Dean probably just wanted a quick thrill, one night among a hundred. They shouldn’t even be looking at each other.

And look at them both. Castiel’s cuffs buttoned on his white shirt, buttoned up to a sensible standard, and black slacks and shoes to match. While Dean sat in a black button down open to an absurd extent, with holey jeans and boots with scuffs on the toes. They were clearly out of each others leagues.

Dean smiled two beers later, nudging closer in their secluded booth, “So,” he asked almost shyly, “You ever kissed a boy?”

Castiel frowned at him but didn’t move away, “Cant say I have.”

“Would you uh, like to?”

He’s a hairsbreadth away from being in contact with Cas’ face anyway, and he looks like he’s going to whether Castiel agrees to it or not. “I don’t really have a choice, do I?”

Deans smile disappeared and he backed away out of Castiels personal space, looking more sincere than he has the entire night. He still kept an arm on the back of the seat, but that was the closest he was to touching Cas.

“Cas, I-“ he paused in his search for words, “You really feel like that? You’ve always got a choice, say no and its no, okay? I know, I pulled a dick move at your-“

Cas hadn’t been hearing words for several seconds now, and suddenly he came back to his senses and realised they were far closer than before and he was kissing Dean with the actually fairly decent beer on their lips. Deans hand was in a fist on his thigh like he wanted to touch Cas but was putting a good effort into not doing it. Castiel had been watching Deans mouth all night, actually. Wondering what it would feel like, taste like, if he would get to do any of those things. And when he breathed in holy _crap_ he smelled good.

He fell back into his place, running a tongue over his lip while Dean watched him with a completely relaxed face. His features were sharp in this lighting, and a little mysterious with the purple shades.

“Now you’ve kissed a boy,” he said like he could see Cas’ pink tinted cheeks. He reached up and brushed his jaw with his thumb, “D’you want a boy to kiss you?”

All he can do is nod, and Dean asks him again if he’s sure and tells him if he says no its fine. Then he’s close, kissing him softly with gradually increasing enthusiasm. He holds the back of Cas’ neck gently and teases his lip tentatively with his teeth because Castiel doesn’t seem to mind much. It just seems to go on and on, sending little shivers through Castiel and poking at that impatient part of him that growls at him to just get to the good bit, and he smothers that part with a blanket, letting his eyes close as fingers touch his side.

He took it as a cue to let his hands wander too, and he’s not sure how this usually works, he’s not a virgin but he’s no expert either. But the small sound that comes from Dean sounds good, so he lets his right hand do what it wants. Dean jumped, unintentionally breaking the kiss when Castiels hand came a little too close to his crotch.

“Whoa there cowboy,” he carefully moved Cas’ hand to his waist, “A little quick on the trigger there.”

Castiel internally kicked himself for that dumb move, he should’ve paid more attention. “Sorry.”

“Unless,” Dean said slowly, “You want to?”

“Oh you mean sex,” he said after a few seconds when he finally got what he was referring to.

Dean chuckled a little, “You’re kinda blunt. I like that.”

He bent his head to Cas’ neck, kissing just under his collar with those lovely, lovely lips. Castiel tilted his head to give him better access, forgetting they were in a public place where everyone could see them.

“Hey,” Dean said in his ear, “We could go somewhere more...if you want to?”

“Your flat?”

“Nah, I got my brother over,” he took Cas’ earlobe between his teeth, “Theres rooms here. I’m friendly with the bartender, he always has one set aside for me.”

Cas didn’t know that clubs like this did rooms, evidently he was wrong. But he let Dean tug him away from the noise down a dark hallway where he paused in the doorway. Obviously one would be sceptical being led through a dark door. But Dean, ever the confident one, took his chin in his fingers and tipped his face up, tempting him in with the promise of another kiss.

A series of numbered doorways later Dean stopped in front of the one numbered twenty-seven, stepping inside waiting for Cas to follow. And, surprisingly, it was a nice room. Furnished in dark wood, with purple sheets and things.

“Done this before?” Dean asked, closing the door. The music was a dull sort of vibration from the distance even though it was only a few meters of wall away.

“Not with a guy,” he said, running a finger over the purple sheets. They weren’t scratchy, but cottony and nice. The room was lit by two lamps either side of the bed, and a string of lights over the headboard. There was a recurring theme of different shades of purple in the Midnight, but it was good. It was a nice colour.

Dean had shed his jacket and shoes when he turned, so he toed off his shoes and made his way over to the door where he stood. But the man hooked his fingers into Cas’ beltloops and fit their hips together, kissing him like before but better now they were alone with more adventurous explorations with tongues and lips. Castiel fumbled with his buttons, finally seeing the skin underneath. He admired the tattoo a moment, moving on to push the shirt from his shoulders.

Dean smiled when Castiel stopped his attempts to undress him, “You like being in control, huh?”

“An artist likes to see their canvas,” he murmured, running a slow finger down his chest, “Before they paint.”

“Kinky,” he leaned down for a kiss, Cas gave him that. When he tried to touch again, Cas made a low growl in the back of his throat and pinned that wrist against the door. Dean only laughed quietly and let him, surrendering while Cas ran his free hand over his shoulders, his chest, over his stomach.

He felt strange, but in a good way as he pressed his face in the curve of Deans shoulder and just turned his face to the side away and back again, liking the feel of his skin and breathing in his glorious smell. If anything, Dean endorsed this. Now he would admit he was slightly intoxicated with the man and, well, it had been a long time since anything happened really. And when he slipped his fingers below the waist of his jeans, into his boxers over his ass, he tipped his head back against the door and gave a short groan.

“You sure you’ve never done this before?”

“We’ve barely even started, Dean,” he kissed under his jaw, “Is this correct?”

“Oh hell yeah, keep doing what you’re doing,” Dean arched under him, “C’mon man, I’ve a feelin’ you’re an awesome dom.”

Castiel stepped back, slowly taking off his shirt, and some small part of him said ‘ _No Castiel, leave. He’s a Winchester._ ’ But the rest was only capable of one word, that word being Yes.


	2. There Is No Greater Sorrow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> theres probably a lot of mistakes but its late and i have an exam so I'll sort them when i can....

For years Dean had been doing little things to rebel against his dad, but they’d been tiny little things like not taking out the garbage or not doing the dishes. Last week he full on went and screwed a Novak, which if he told his dad about he’d be shot. Literally. Man, that guy had actually been better than he expected. He’d only went for him cos of dads little talk, the ‘stay away from us or die’ talk. Now his expectations had seriously been raised.

As soon as he came home Sunday morning, Sam had asked him if he’d had a good night and this time he could honestly say he had. Sam was used to him coming back with girls, or disappearing for a night or two. Usually that happened after an argument with dad, so he never questioned it. He liked dad about as much as vampires thought holy water was a delicious low fat beverage.

He went home a few days ago, so Dean could let the place go a little. Washing remained un-put away, dishes undone. He did take the garbage out, if he didn’t the place would stink. But it generally fell into disregard when he didn’t have people over. That wasn’t the reason this time. He hadn’t been living there.

Dad wasn’t well, like at all. He had a stroke the day after Sam went home, so he was in hospital fighting it off so to speak. An induced coma meant Dean spent hours staring at a corpse until the nurses made him leave and he slept in the waiting room or in his car. A rough time for both of them.

So he went home to shower at the nurses suggestion, and ended up cleaning up his flat. He had no reason to, but it was just either habit or something to do that wasn’t waiting for his dad to wake up and yell at him for not living.

Except he got the phonecall then, the one they give you to say your dad woke up but he had a heart attack and he’s kicked the metaphorical bucket.

Dad wouldn’t wake up.

For two days now he’s been pouring all his frustrations into everything else. Cleaning, shifting furniture, taking extra shifts at work, calling his brother to arrange the funeral, not thinking about Castiel Novak, furiously jerking off in the shower, anything to avoid grieving for his dad that never cared about him anyway.

He hated this whole process anyway, the fact that when someone dies who’s made no preparations for their funeral, it all gets dumped on their emotionally repressed twenty-four year old son and his brother. Then theres the guilt about the whole rebellion-fuck that he cared too much about.

He was being stupid and because he’s reckless he found himself walking up the long driveway to the big house Castiel lived in, hoping to God he was there. Castiel seemed like the type not to turn anyone away who was in need, and Dean needed... He didn’t know actually but Cas was a post-grad, he was smart.

In the little mini parking lot, theres two cars that look expensive, a beat up truck, and the garage door is open revealing (of all things) three bikes that appear to be extremely very well looked after. He never took Castiel for the motorbike type, but there you go. Learn new things every day.

The image of Castiel in leathers halfway unzipped was suddenly a stupid thing taking over his head he didn’t need as he made his way up the porch to knock on the door with the big lionhead knocker. He pushed that thought away when he heard footsteps.

A young woman opened the door, long red hair gracing her head and a casual but I’m-better-than-you dress sense giving her an arrogant look on top of that whole look. It was angelic in a way but also _I’ll tear your fucking throat out_ , too. She looked him up and down before yelling through for Cassie, and something about its for him. Her gaze kept being drawn to the left side of his chest and he suddenly remembered he wore his Winchester emblazoned jacket, probably a bad move turning up here with it on. It was a bad move full stop.

Castiel turned up, jeans and a button down, and dismissed the girl, Anna, and softening his look immediately after she disappeared.

“What the hell?” he said in harsh whispers, “Are you nuts? That was my sister, and if your dad-“

“My dads dead,” he replied, like he practised saying for two days for anyone who asked. Yet it still tasted wrong, “I’m sorry, I know this is stupid but I... No I’ll go.”

Cas grabbed his jacket and yanked him inside, checking behind him the whole way, and pushed him toward the stairs, “Walk on the right side of the stairs and the hall, and for gods sake be quiet.”

“Wh-“ he smacked a hand over his mouth, reminding Dean of their night a week and a half ago. It shouldn’t have felt that good just to have him touch him again.

“Go to the room at the very end of the hallway to the right. Go,” he gave him another rough shove and wheeled back the way he came, leaving Dean to climb the stairs on the right like he said. They made no sound, and Dean was either surprised or impressed. A house this old was bound to have its creaks and things, but maybe thats why ‘walk on the right’ was necessary. He heard Cas say something like he was gone, just delivering a message or something. He remembered something about Cas hating his family, why were they here if that was the case?

But he did as he was told, going straight to the end of the hall, and the voices got quieter and quieter as he went. The room at the end was big, a four poster bed with white sheets and simple wood furnishings, shoes tucked out of the way by a dresser and light flooding in through a window with a view of the woods out back. He guessed  it was Cas’ room, with the coat on the back of the desk chair and the sensible shoes.

Dean picked up a book from the desk and read while he waited, leaning on the desk. It was a book about bikes, or some guys journey round Europe on one. He got quite into it and lost time, forgetting where he was by the time Cas opened up his door and slipped inside.

“I didn’t know you could read,” he said, another attempt at humour. Dean scowled at him and put the book down. Castiel looked like he was erring on the side of caution here, “Why’re you here, what do you mean he’s dead?”

“I mean he had a heart attack and he’s stone cold,” Dean snapped, sighing and ducking his head with a murmured apology, “I- I don’t know. I took a walk and ended up here.”

“You know how stupid that was,” he said again, “They know who you are, and Anna opening the door to you set off alarm bells. You-“

“I know, okay? I freakin’ know!”

Castiel watched calmly as he lost his shit, and for all the world Dean wanted just to hold onto something solid for a moment. He wiped a hand over his face, reminding himself who he was talking to. A Novak. A one-night-stand from a week and a half ago. Something that should’ve ended where it began.

“I sent them out to go sight-seeing, they’ll be a few hours. And I’m guessing that you want a distraction,” he told Dean, one hand opening the door, “You said you were a mechanic, yes? Come, we’ll have a look at the bikes.”

-

Castiel had a collection of ten in total, but only three lived in the garage. Those were the ones he used. His favourite of the seven he didn’t was, he said, the Honda Cruiser. A black and silver monster of a thing that looked like it might eat your children. He mentioned he was looking at a BMW HP4, and it was way out of his price range but a man could dream.

Dean couldn’t believe it when he said he actually used his Honda Blackbird, those things were one of the fastest in the world. And he had one in his garage, that he used on the road, sitting next to a dirt bike and another one he forgot the name of.

The guy seriously had a Blackbird.

Dean was more a car guy, but those things were beasts, legends to people like him, and he was standing here in the same garage as one. And oh my god if he didn’t fanboy when Castiel let him sit on the thing. The last time he got this excited over a bike he was ten and Ash was teaching him how to ride motocross.

“It was a gift,” Castiel said, elaborating when Dean stared open mouthed at him, “My father is a very successful author, this was nothing for him.”

“What about the rest of the bikes?”

Cas went to the other street bike, rubbing at it with a rag, “The other two here I bought myself, and the rest were my uncles. I inherited everything in this house, including the motorcycles.”

“Dude, that is awesome,” Dean dismounted the bike and followed as Cas climbed the steps up from the garage. He was unfortunately finding more and more things he loved about Cas, which made it harder for him to convince himself to leave.

“I heard you singing praise about that Suzuki,” Castiel turned, walking backwards to the bike-room, “If you’re good you can turn it on.”

Of course, he trotted after him, not for the promise of turning on the bike. Hell he couldn’t drive one very well, why would he trust himself with Cas’ babies? Just something in Cas’ eyes made him follow.

The seven bikes sat as they were, the cruiser in the middle, and Dean made a beeline for his Suzuki. Jet black and silver, he swung his leg over and shut his eyes, imagining actually being able to ride this thing. God he’d love to.

Someone else slid in behind him, ridiculously close to him, and reached around him to cover his hands on the handlebars or whatever you called them. Castiels five o’ clock shadow scratched his neck and he thought no, this isn’t supposed to happen it was a one off. But his dick said yes so thats that settled. He tried to keep still while Cas essentially started grinding against him on this bike, a situation Deans mind could never have actually imagined.

“I don’t think the seat was meant for two,” he said, hoping to God Cas would change their position, but all he did was hum to himself and run his hands up the inside of Deans thighs. This time he didn’t jump.

He didn’t know what Cas actually planned to do given their current situation but he tipped his head back when Cas’ fingers found him through his jeans, because Jesus Christ it really was all that. Fucking shit.

He whimpered, he whined like a spoiled brat and begged Cas to just get to the good bit while he sucked a mark onto neck. But Cas stopped then. He just stopped, still sort of palming him a little.

“No,” he mumbled, sliding away to lean next to a sink by the window.

Swinging his leg over he realised, he probably just ruined it for himself there. He said he’d give a distraction and he gave Dean bikes and came so close to something better. Almost like he wanted to but the sound of Deans voice snapped him out of it.

“We should do this again sometime-“

“This meant nothing,” Castiel rumbled at him, crowding him against the sink, “It meant nothing and it never will, are we clear?”

Dean blinked once, a little surprised by the sudden change of attitude. He mumbled a shakey okay and Castiel went on to say with his back to him that his siblings would be back soon, it would be best if he would leave.

“Cas-“

“Please,” Dean only just caught the waver, barely even there, “Its in everyones best interests.”

Dean grit his teeth with a stubborn and childish ‘Fine!’ on his way out, but he didn’t slam the door. He didn’t despise Castiel that much. Quite the opposite, sadly. But even so, Cas was right. Their families still hate each other, and it was a dick move coming here in the first place.

He made his way down the driveway and it started to rain, and he thought maybe this was the sky telling him to go back and convince Cas they could be something, but the dark cloud hanging over Cas said otherwise.

* * *

In this huge house, he didn’t use the big dining room. He felt lonely with the nineteen other empty chairs around the long table. What was the point of sitting at a table meant for twenty when all he needed was one? Anna said he was being stupid, living in the mansion (he refused to call it that, it sounded pretentious) all by himself, and he should go out and find someone or invite his family to stay with him. Neither of which were appealing to him. He didn’t like to think about settling down, even less so after he sent Dean away for some reason.

He hadn’t been to the bike-room for several days. The book Dean had picked up still lay upside down on the desk untouched. He had, however, taken a seat on the Suzuki for a moment just to put his hands on the handlebars, thinking maybe he should take her out sometime. And he half wished he'd just given Dean what he wanted.

Michael was persistent in his offers to buy three of the bikes, even if the answer was no. Castiel wouldn’t consider himself a hoarder but if he owned them he was keeping them. He never had anything he didn’t want, really. That and one of the bikes he wanted was the Blackbird, which was definitely not for sale. He didn’t see why Michael wanted them, he didn’t ride bikes, he’d turned his nose up at any mention of them when Castiel was younger. What he liked was control and power, a trait he said ran in the family.

Tonight their remarks had been too much for him if he was honest, his plate sat still full at the table from when he just left without a word. He threw on his jacket and helmet, and took the first bike his hands touched, the Bonneville. He had thought about just taking the dirtbike out back, after the rain there’d be a suitably muddy track to give him a little bit of a challenge, but what he really needed was away from the house.

And true to this damn towns dreary form, it started raining yet again. He’d just have to be careful. He wasn’t a superstitious man, but the last time he came off a bike it was raining. He turned carefully, just to be safe, and kept it at a reasonable speed even if he just wanted to punch it and see if he got a ticket. He got a decent run on the driveway though, he could do it again on the way back. His mother never liked his fixation with bikes, too rebellious and dangerous for her, perhaps.

It was the speed that enticed him the most. The power that came from the engine, it always seemed almost surreal that something on two wheels could go that fast. Then it was the things you could do on it, and his uncle took him under his wing and showed him the dirtbikes, and taught him not to fall off. His mother freaked at his first broken arm and forbid him going back but he was addicted.

She had hoped that after the scare two years ago that he’d quit his ‘antics’ and pick up a normal hobby like art or something but it only made him strive to be better. Even if his heart beat too fast and his brain panicked every time the bike did something that wasn’t running completely smoothly under him.

He turned onto the main street and saw the familiar face coming out of a bar with a bunch of other people, all in formal casual with ties, for gods sake. He kerb crawled, not really caring if he looked like a creep, until he recognised the bike and stopped.

Cas slipped his helmet off, he really had no right even talking to him after sending Dean away. But Dean stopped and told the taller man he was with to go, he’d see him at Bobby’s whatever that meant. Its still raining but here they are, meeting in a not uncivilised manner even after their last, slightly strange conversation.

“Hello, Dean,” he sat the helmet on the fuel tank and ruffled his own hair to unstick it. Dean pushed his hands into his jeans pockets and looked at the bike instead. “How are you?”

“Thought you said I meant nothing,” he grumbled, scuffing his feet. Castiel remembered their last words, and how Dean might have misinterpreted them. He hadn’t thought he would take them to heart like that, or thought they meant what they didn’t. Thats the problem with words said in haste.

He went to reach out but rethought that move, settling for resting his open palm on his damp thigh, “No, Dean, thats not what I meant. I meant the s- what we did meant nothing. Not you.”

Dean stared at the front suspension with a furrowed brow, “I just buried my dads ashes, how do you think I am?”

Castiel couldn’t think of anything that would make him feel any better, at all. Last time, his dad had just died and the shock had yet to wear off, now he was just waiting on the grief to fully take hold. He couldn’t do much for him, but the bike was just big enough for two.

“Hey, Dean,” he turned the helmet in his hands, water droplets running and collecting in pools, “Let me give you a ride home, its the least I can do.”

He looked up from the wheel, a strange sort of look on his face. He rattled off his address and slid on behind Cas, arms around his waist as he pulled his helmet back on after Dean refused it. He went slowly for Deans sake, all thoughts of erratic driving pushed aside for now. Dean pushed his face into the muscled part of Cas’ shoulder on the wet leather, there was no real reason for it other than perhaps he wanted to, and his fingers held on tight to the jacket at his side. He was more shaken than he let on, Castiel thought. At the first stoplight he briefly covered Deans hand with his own.

For a moment, Castiel wished they were real friends. Not just acquaintances disallowed to be anything more by a stupid family feud. He wished he had the means to comfort Dean properly, not just give him a ride home on the back of his bike. If Anna and Michael knew where he was, what he was doing, there would be hell to pay.

He cut the engine outside the address Dean gave him and the man slowly lifted his head. He had the imprint of Cas’ jacket on his cheek, a little damp from the rain. Dean dismounted, not noticing Castiel take his helmet off as he thanked him. And by God if Castiel didn’t feel like an asshole.

Dean turned round as he reached the door and called over to him to come inside, have a beer or something. He grabbed his keys and let the bike sit as it was at Deans assurance it wouldn’t be stolen. The flat was warm, and Dean apologised for the barely even there mess. Just some washing still to be put away and some bottles not yet recycled.

Dean hovered in the doorway of the living room, a slightly conflicted look on his face. The helmet in Cas’ hands dripped a little water onto the floor.

“Dean,” he said, touching his shoulder, “Do you...what do you need?”

Dean stuttered a moment, “I-I don’t know, I’m... I cant do this Cas, I cant-“

“Yes you can, Dean,” he forced Dean to look at him, he didn’t know what Dean was referring to in all honesty but he guessed it was something about his dad, “You can and you will.”

He shook his head, burying his face in his palms and drawing in a trembling breath. He moved farther into the living room, away from Castiel. The couch looked old and battered, and Dean sat down like he probably did every single night.

He felt like a bigger ass for asking this too, after the day Dean had, “Do you need a- a distraction?”

Deans lip quivered once before he bit down on it hard, worrying it for a minute, “Please. Please, Castiel.”

Castiel barely heard the helmet hit the floor as he sat down, not hesitating this time, and reaching up to cup his face and kiss him gently like he was one of the delicate glass sculptures in his uncles house.

* * *

Dean stood at the door to see Castiel out. His hair was all ruffled in the sexiest way, and at least Dean fulfilled one fantasy of peeling Castiel out of his tight leather jacket and pushing up the skintight white t-shirt underneath. The ‘distraction’ got him out of his head for a while, and he let Cas coddle him a little after with a cup of coffee and an omelette he made for him. It didn’t change the fact his dad was dead though, and he felt like he was just using Cas even if he initiated it, even if he kept his promise of ‘no is no’ from the start, like any decent person would.

Cas turned on the step to face him with a stern look, “ _That_ -“ he put emphasis on the word, “-meant nothing. Not you, _that_.”

Dean knew he had a sort of mournful smile on his face when he replied, he could put it down to the grief later, “Sure. Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Shit. Sweetheart? There wasn’t even enough snark there to pass it off as sarcasm. Dammit, Dean!

Castiel frowned and cocked his head a little. But, thankfully he didn’t say anything about it.

“I just thought,” he began slowly, playing with the strap on his helmet, “That it would be better if neither of us gets the wrong idea.”

“Please Cas,” he said as the man turned away, reaching for his jacket, “Can we just... Be friends at least? I don’t have many and you’re a pretty decent guy and...”

He trailed off seeing Castiel frown down at the helmet in his hands. He knew Cas had a boring, monotonous office job, and his siblings were a pain in the ass, he probably had more reason to want distracting than Dean did. But how the hell this was gonna work when their families were at each others throats, he didn’t know. Their secret little scandal.

“We’ve had sex twice, Dean,” he said, leaning on the doorframe. This was it, the big letdown. The point where Cas tells him just to fuck off, “I hardly think thats the right term.”

“Fuck buddies?” he suggested, hopeful.

Cas scowled at him, “I’d rather you not use that word to describe our relationship.”

Dean huffed, “What then?”

“My sister likes this film, Friends With Benefits.”

And holy crap, Cas looked unbelievably hot leaning on the doorjamb, leather jacket half unzipped, hair all mussed, very Grease.

“Why the hell not? Okay,” Dean wouldn’t admit it to himself, but he was actually looking forward to it. Not just for the sex, he could get that anywhere. There was just something about Cas that was like cocaine, it left him high and wanting more.

Cas nodded and fished out his keys, throwing them up and catching them again, “Okay. Goodbye, Dean.”

He watched Cas run down the steps to the bike, start her up, and listened to her speed away before he shut the door only to lean against it and slide to the floor because the grief was back. Even if his dad hadn’t treated him like a son for god knows how long he still fucking hated he was gone.

He wished he was back so he could tell him what to do.


	3. It Still Abandons Me Not

He sat working on the dirtbike angrily, seething over his last phonecall with Anna. It got quite heated, but the loud music in the garage and the grease on his hands was helping him forget. The guitar solo’s were louder than his thoughts, and he couldn’t hear himself curse each time he caught himself on a piece of metal.

“I know you’re involved with that Winchester,” she’d said. Apparently she knew a guy who knew a guy.  And they saw him going to Deans every other week, and had glimpsed a shiny black Impala turning down his drive.

“I’m not ‘ _involved_ ’ with anyone, Anna,” he’d replied, throwing a load in the washer. He remembered now he hadn’t even turned on the damn machine.

“Well you’re clearly doing something with him. He’s a Winchester, Cas, he’s dangerous and if you don’t stop this nonsense I’ll-“

“Oh you’ll _what_ , Anna? Take away my toys like you made mom do?” he smacked the door shut, “It means nothing, its just-“

“Thats bullshit Castiel! You never did anything, pun intended, you didn’t want to do. I know you’re only working in that office because it pays bills. Look at your house, your bikes, if you didn’t love them you wouldn’t keep them.”

He had stared at the powder in the little slot for a while before pushing it in, waiting for Anna to continue her rant knowing there was some truth in her words. He chewed on the inside of his cheek instead of answering because he really had no excuse for wanting Deans company other than he liked the man and what he gave him. He was greedy for it.

“I know you don’t love us-“

“Anna-“

“And thats okay, because no one in this family can stand each other. Thats why you’re all the way out there and we’re here in Detroit. You’re the only one smart enough to leave.”

“Then why don’t you leave then? You can drive, just goddamn leave!”

“You're changing the subject. All I'm asking is you call this silly affair off-”

“Anna!" he growled, "For the last time I am _not_ involved with _anyone_ , especially not Dean Winchester!”

She laughed on her end, and hung up leaving Castiel to simmer and only just avoid smashing his phone to bits on the floor. He went to fix his bike instead, the front suspension had come loose yesterday, and ended up giving it a full MOT. He’d need to wash it too, but he could do that later. The door to the hallway opened and let Dean in, and he couldn’t care less. Only he kinda cared a lot.

He went back to replacing the balding back tyre, ignoring Deans presence with the help of the too loud music he’s pretty sure would make him deaf. Dean had taken to wearing button downs, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and unbuttoned past his collarbones. Honestly, it was a secret turn on for Castiel and Dean somehow guessed it. It did nothing for him today.

The music cut out and any other day he would’ve snapped at whoever did it, he didn’t have the energy to do it. He used up the last of it with Anna. Cas tightened the last bolt and finally paid a little attention to Dean. For once he wasn’t wearing his usual ripped jeans, but a nice pair. And a nice pair of boots. In fact, everything was relatively well looked after, even ironed.

“Whats the occasion?” he asked as he untied the sleeves of his ‘onesie-leathers’ as Dean called them, slipping the top half on again.

Dean looked down at himself, “Sammy brought his girlfriend this time, told me he wanted me to make a goddamn effort instead of looking like a hobo. Where you off to?”

“I want to test the suspension,” Castiel gave no other explanation as he only zipped up halfway, still showing a good amount of white shirt smeared with black, “I’ll be back.”

With that he pulled his gloves on and grabbed the helmet from the counter turning his back on Dean, the helmet muffled any reply Dean could have made. The sound the bike made was little more than a buzz and a thrum through his bones. On the way out he turned too fast and the back skidded under him almost throwing him, and his heart skipped several beats. He forgot the dirtbikes were more like skittish animals on the mud than the other bikes. Dean stood watching him from the garage while he recovered from the pathetic little loss of control.

He could see him trying to ask if he was okay as he revved the engine again and sped off on the flighty little bike down the track his uncle taught him on.

* * *

Cas came back, covered in every type of mud and foresty debris Dean could imagine. All spattered up his neck, over his already dirty shirt, a big print up over his left shoulder like he took a tumble at some point. He didn’t seem hurt though, just in need of a decent shower. And he looked a little more relaxed than before too. An hour ago he looked like he’d bite Deans head off after he unplugged the stereo system.

He came in, sans gloves, helmet and boots, and started stripping in the kitchen. Dean had taken the liberty of making himself some coffee with the machine that looked like a bird, and Castiel went to do the same in just a ratty shirt and boxers. The washing machine came to life seconds later, his onesie-leathers safe inside the shut door.

Castiel hopped up on a stool at the breakfast bar, mug of coffee in his hands, and stared into it like it held answers as to why he was just in his underwear.

“You gonna tell me whats eating you?” Dean asked, sitting opposite him. “Thats why I’m here.”

“Except thats not why you’re here, is it?” he snapped back, poking at the little monster in Dean that wanted him to bite something at Cas. He seemed to come to his senses a little, mumbling an apology, “I- siblings. My family can be very intrusive.”

Dean nudged his leg under the table, “S’okay. If you need to talk or whatever, I’m horrible at it but y’know.”

Castiel smiled a little hiding it behind his mug. Dean liked it when he did little endearing things like that, the ones that served to make him get unreasonably attached to him. He shouldn’t even be here. He should never have spoken to Castiel in the first place. But here he is.

“Hey, Cas,” he said after a minute, “I’m going out with Sam and Jess on Thursday and I was just wondering if you wanted to...”

Cas took on a sort of conflicted expression, like he wanted to but he had a Yoga class he just couldn’t get out of or whatever he did in his spare time that wasn’t bikes.  He drank a little coffee, setting the mug down again. The red contrasted his pale hands still smeared a little with grease.

“I cant, I’m sorry.” It didn’t look like he wanted Dean to ask why, so he kept his nose out.

* * *

Tonight, when Dean had Castiel up on that counter in nothing but boxers (before he rid him of those too) he said something different. Usually its just his name, or a little mumble of ‘nothing’ he thinks he says that to remind himself its not real.

He said “I don’t love you,” and it took Dean aback for a moment, “I never will,” and that one only served to remind Dean that, in fact, his mumbles speak some truth. Now Dean, he sometimes moans ‘I love you’ if he’s getting it, and if he’s giving it turns into ‘You’re lovely,’ whichever it is he can never tell if he means it. Somehow, with Cas, he’s torn. So ridiculously torn over if he really means his endearments or not.

But the way Castiel so determinedly growled in his ear ‘I don’t love you, I never will’ made him question himself and what they were doing. Were his affections real and, perhaps, misplaced? Was he getting in too deep with Castiel when he shouldn’t even be near him? The answer to that one was yes, he was.

So what in the world did he reply with?

“I know,” he said against the hollow of his throat, “I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theres probably going to be a lot of filler chapters soon because who doesnt love a good bit of filler when its not pointless


	4. They Yearn For What They Fear For

It turned out Anna’s question was the hardest he’d ever been asked.

“ _Us_ ,” she’d said, “ _Or him_.”

She asked him to choose between his family and Dean. The man he’d become far too attached to when he should never have talked to him when their two families had hated each other for generations.

So he panicked, not saying anything in reply until Anna told him she would give him some time to think, not that he should need it. She could just as easily have said ‘ _Smash your bikes or smash us to pieces_ ’ and he would’ve flailed around in a total freak out. He might not like them but come on, they’re family! And Dean meant as much to him as they did somehow. Even if he said he didn’t love him, he was trying to convince himself as much.

He rang Deans doorbell one night two weeks after, Dean had asked him over. They had a few beers first, and it helped Cas slip into it a little. And as usual when they were at Deans, the man dozed off in his bed, lying on his front under the sheets. Usually this was Castiels cue to leave. He usually left as soon as Dean closed his eyes, and he’d wake up alone and never complain. After the first time it happened, Castiel made an agreement with himself to work Dean hard so he’d be more likely to sleep and he could get away painlessly. It worked up until now.

Because tonight he lay facing Dean on top of the sheets in his jeans. He had clothed himself, ready to leave, and found himself drawn back in. So he watched him for a while, thinking about Anna’s question. Deans hand on his forearm kept him there.

And it woke him up too, in the morning. Deans voice roused him, and his hand shook his shoulder gently. The fact he was still in Deans bed scared him enough to jolt awake in a second. He stood up from the bed and backed away to the door, hands going to his hair as he apologised for his idiocy.

Dean followed him, pulling on a pair of sweats from the floor. Castiel only panicked and he didn’t know why. Except he did, and it was because of Anna, its all her fault.

_If she hadn’t asked that goddamn question-_

“Cas, please, look at me Cas,” Dean begged as he ran for the hall, pulling on his boots and jacket, “I’m not mad, its okay!”

“I’m sorry,” he told Dean in a voice that trembled, “I’m- I shouldn’t have stayed!”

“Why?” Dean grabbed his sleeve, “Why don’t you just tell me whats going on?”

And to top it all off, Cas couldn’t keep himself from being a huge fucking baby and crying about it, could he? Just because things weren’t turning out how he wanted, big fat tears rolling down his cheeks.

He dropped his keys and stepped back toward Dean, one arm going around his neck and the other to his waist like this would solve anything. He hadn’t cried like this since he was a kid, not even when his uncle died. That had been dignified grieving. This was completely disgusting, ugly sobbing that was probably messing up Deans t-shirt.

The asshole just wrapped his arms around Cas while he cried and rocked him where they stood. He didn’t deserve this, Dean should be pushing him away not comforting him.

“Hey,” Dean hushed him, “Shh, its okay Cas.”

_No its not stop lying to me!_

_Shut up, Dean doesn’t know don’t blame him!_

_If he had just stayed away-_

_If Anna had just left well alone then it would be okay!_

He could barely stand on his own, if he stepped away now Dean would have to catch him. So he just stood and let Dean hold him up even if it was completely humiliating. His father had raised proud children, their family’s pride was their downfall and probably what got them into this feud. Unable to admit when they were wrong, see when they should give up or back down from a fight. They were so bigoted that even Castiel hated them, he hated himself for being one of them. He wished his mother had married someone else so he never had to deal with this.

He grit his teeth then, willing his bones to stay solid as he stepped back from Dean to furiously scrub at his eyes. Dean looked concerned to say the least, arms out ready to catch him if he fell. Castiel gave a halfhearted gasp while he got his bearings, before bending to grab the keys from the floor.

“I shouldn’t love you,” he said with a tremble, holding the keys so tightly he swore he cut his palm.

“I know you don’t,” Dean replied quietly, he misheard Castiel. He said he shouldn’t. He didn’t say he did, nor did he say he didn’t. He didn’t know, he didn’t know and he so desperately wanted to know.

He choked on his breath, “I’m sorry I cant- I should go-“

He wheeled, throwing open the door with Deans voice calling after him. His footsteps followed him a good few flights of stairs before Cas stopped, looking up. Dean was on the set of steps above him. His form blurred again, stupid tears.

“Castiel please,” he pleaded, “Just tell me whats wrong!”

“It wasn’t you! You did nothing wrong Dean,” he looked down and away, realising he forgot his helmet, “I just need some- I have to think. I’m sorry.”

He ran, he ran out to his Blackbird, barely stopping to clear his eyes before starting her up and flying away from the block of flats. He would go home, get a helmet and a bag of his things and go stay with his cousin for a few days. He couldn’t face that house. Everything that Dean had touched, he’d wormed his way under his skin into the corners and settled like a warm blanket on a winter morning. This winter morning he had duties and the blanket was more appealing and he had to choose, and it was tearing him apart because if he didn’t choose the blanket he couldn’t come back to it.

He left the Blackbird in the garage, calling Gabriel as he went. He must have heard from the tightness in his voice he was desperate, because he agreed before he even told him his reason. He threw clothes in a bag, carefully folding a shirt and pants for work. He didn’t know how long he’d need to be gone. He locked up, closing the garage door and flipping off the lights. Locked the front door, and went to the bike-room. He bypassed the Suzuki, even the Cruiser, and went for the Iron 883, a black Harley-Davidson inherited with the house. He had a soft spot for it, second favourite. And Dean hadn’t touched it.

As he sped out of the town, he pretended he didn’t see the Impala turning up out of a street heading for his house, because if it happened it meant Dean was going to see an empty house.

-

The entire thing had unsettled Dean, actually.

Cas never got that upset, and the way he just ran off like that... Dean had his helmet in the car, he needed to make sure he was okay and give it back.

Except the lights were all off. When he tried the door, it was locked, as was the garage. He wandered round the back with the helmet under his arm, because Cas’ truck was still there. The bike-room door was ajar, no lights on. He wandered in, and only six bikes sat tilted on their stands. The big black one was gone, not the Cruiser, the one he’d seen Cas mooning over the last time he was in here.

Actually, the same one he saw heading in the other direction with a guy with a bag on his back.

Thats it, then. He’s lost him.

He shouldn’t care, but no matter how much he knows its only sex between them and nothing more he cant help suspecting that it could’ve been. The way Cas broke down in front of him for seemingly no reason, clinging onto him while he cried like a snotty kid about something he couldn’t, or refused to, tell Dean about. He hoped to God there was a reason and not simply he got bored of Dean, he couldn’t go through with that again.

But the fact he felt like he couldn’t tell Dean. After Dean came to him when his dad died? Doesnt that show some sort of trust, a relationship of some kind?

Dean wouldn’t say he was angry but he was sort of hacked off. He could’ve at least given him an explanation of some sort. But now he’s gone and he cant do shit.

He left the helmet by the sink, leaving the way he came and shutting the door.


	5. To Rehearse Memories Of Joy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the title is from "No sadness is greater than in misery to rehearse memories of joy." which is Dante

Gabriel was the one he least despised. They’d always been sort of close, even if Gabe decided to pull the odd rough prank on him. He still came to him for help though. Gabriels block had an underground parking lot, and the bikes rumble amplified to a roar in it. He sort of regretted bringing the Iron, it was too precious to him for doing regular runs to work and things. If he hadn’t been so stupid in the first place he wouldn’t be here.

Gabriel sat him down once he arrived with a beer and a sandwich he didn’t want, but ate out of obligation. He really just wanted to go back to Dean and continue as if none of this had happened. Instead he told Gabriel everything, within reason. 

“This is like a Disney movie,” he said when Castiel finished, “Or a Shakespeare play. Falling for the wrong family.”

“I haven’t ‘fallen’ for anyone,” he mumbled back, taking another drink from his bottle. He'd been peeling at the label for the past three minutes, little colourful flakes of paper lay scattered on the counter in front of him.

“Yeah? So Deans just disposable to you then.”

“No.”

Gabriel gave a sarcastic sigh, “Ah, so its not that simple then.”

Castiel hated his sarcastic tendencies. But he was right, it wasn’t that simple. He couldn’t just say yes or no, go left or right. He pushed his hands into his tangled mess of helmet hair and stared at his lap. His head hurt and the beginnings of guilt gnawed at his insides.

“I don’t know what to do, Gabe.”

“Well,” the shorter man laid his palms flat on the table, “I’ll give you a place to crash while you sort your head out but-“ theres always a but, “-I will not fix your mess.”

Cas scowled at him, “I wasn’t asking you to. Theres nothing to fix.”

He shook his head on his way past and shoved Castiels shoulder, “Thats exactly why you need to fix it.”

-

Its been only a week since Cas lost his shit, a whole seven days since Dean last saw him. It stung, when he felt the need to see him, not even for sex, but just to see him. He’d left a few messages on his phone, rightfully concerned. One of them he’s sure he accidentally said he loved him.

Days went on, the world didn’t stop, he didn’t feel like an open wound or cry himself to sleep. He thought it was easier knowing Cas left because he didn’t want to see Dean anymore. The weird thing though, was how he hadn’t been back to his house either. The gates remained shut where Dean closed them as an added precaution, he didn’t want Cas’ shit getting stolen even if he was a little pissed.

He went to work, he earned his living, and he did every possible thing to keep his life going. He never once told someone how he felt because what was the point? Give it a few months, this would all be a distant memory. This would be a single point in his life among many. And think of their conversations, Cas would never have considered him in a million years.

_This means nothing, sure whatever you say sweetheart, I don’t love you I never will, I know, I will never love you ever, I know._

He fucking knew Cas didn’t want to love him. _But why would he keep coming back if he didn’t?_  some little part of his brain kept teasing him, What if he does? _The way he treated you like glass in the dark, like you meant something, the way he went to Play-Doh under your hands-_

Thats the part of his brain he told to shut up when he lay in his bed at night, trying to sleep to the sound of his music playing softly.

-

He missed Dean, he realised about nine days after he left. He was unapologetically pining for his smile, his little flirty quirks. He checked his phone and he had four messages from Dean and three from Anna. He couldn’t listen to his sisters annoying voice so he listened to Deans messages instead. All were messages of concern, saying how he hoped he was okay, and one sounded slightly drunk and he couldn’t understand it well. It actually sounded like those times your pocket phoned people, which was more than likely because there were other voices too.

He was glad to see Dean was getting on with his life, but a little sad too. Yesterday Gabe had complained at him that he should go after what he wants for a while, especially if it meant pissing off someone.

But he’s a Novak and Deans a Winchester, their families hate each other and he cant.

“Dont you think you should at least go make things right?” Gabriel asked in a tired sort of voice when it was closer to twelve days later, “You cant leave him thinking you hate him.”

“I don’t hate him.”

“Well go tell him,” Gabriel moaned, throwing Castiels leathers at his face, “Get out of my house for an hour or two.”

He grumped, but Gabe had a point. Even Novaks weren’t assholes enough to leave on a bad note. He wasn’t sure if that counted Winchesters or not, but Dean was different. So he pulled the leathers on and grabbed his keys. Even if it made things worse he had to try.


	6. The Beginning Of Always

He felt bad for turning up at Deans house unannounced. He could have at least texted him first, let him know he was coming. Or answered his calls in the first place, that would’ve helped. The awkward silence when Dean opened the door was unlike any they had ever had. Dean stared back at him with his eyebrows raised and an expectant look, or was that halfway to pissed off? 

Cas however managed to look sullen  and perhaps cowed, he was definitely sorry for himself. He wanted to be anywhere but here, or here but a month ago. He would’ve given everything for Dean not to look at him like that. Dean opened the door a little wider, jerking his head toward the hallway to invite Cas in without words. He didn’t deserve the words that usually graced Deans lips. Especially the way he said his name and called him lovely, and all he replied with was how he doesn’t love him and how it all means nothing.

With the door shut, he felt even more guilty, in the hallway it all happened. Dean stood there hands at his sides, all stoic and unfeeling. Dean was good at that though, hiding things. For all he knew Dean could be falling apart, but he doubted it.

“You look like you want a distraction,” Dean said, going to turn away from Cas. A distraction was the opposite of what he wanted. He reached for Deans overshirt, holding onto it even as he turned back to Cas.

“I don’t want a distraction, just,” Cas looked down and away to the floor, “I’m sorry.”

“You said,” he sounded sour, but didn’t remove Cas’ hand. He shoved his free hand in his pocket so he wouldn’t do something else stupid.

“I needed to clear my head,” he murmured, “My sister. She called me and said I had to choose, them or you.”

“And you couldn’t tell me?”

He didn’t know how close Dean was until he dropped his head and it hit his shoulder, but he didn’t move it and neither did Dean. They spent a few long moments like that, just standing there. Cas had no right to begin to expect Deans forgiveness. Ever.

He sighed quietly, “I’ve been thinking about it for days, so I can answer Anna.”

“Look man, your family’s important, I get that. If you want to go-“

Castiel closed his eyes so he didn’t have to see Deans horrified face that this little duckie just happened to imprint on him. All they were was, as he so eloquently put it, fuck buddies. Maybe friends at best. But Cas had to go screw it up, like he screwed everything up. Dean had told him once, how he had a partner, and they screwed him over. Apparently because he got boring to them, and they left. It wasn’t too hard to see why he was reluctant to put any level of trust in anyone. Especially someone his dad hated. He had no reason to stay with Castiel after John passed, maybe he did like him in some way.

He kept his grip on Deans jacket, just taking the risk. Even in a murmur, “I love you.”

He expected at least some form of anger, because after Castiel ran he comes back and says that. It sounds like he’s expecting Dean just to accept him back like none of it happened. He felt gentle fingers on his jaw, tilting his chin up to look at Dean once again. He saw nothing but undeserved kindness.

“I know,” was all he said, “I know.”

He kissed him then, softer even than the first. Castiel gripped his collar with his free hand, taking all he was given like the selfish dick he was. It was almost as if Dean had forgiven him, but if he had it was a little too good to be true. Half of him wanted Dean to be angry and send him away. But the conscious part of him wanted coddling because the past fortnight had been so goddamn lonely. He hated pining.

Dean went to the zip on his jacket and the shirt buttons underneath, he made a sound in protest because his mouth was busy and held Deans hands still, moving them until fingers curved round his sides.

“Slowly,” he mumbled, and Dean laughed once.

“We kinda threw that out the window at the start, lovely.”

“Then start again,” Cas murmured on his cheek, “I like it when you call me lovely.”

It was too convenient, too happy ever after for Castiel. He never got what he wanted. He almost didn’t want to believe Dean was really there, nosing at his cheek and kissing his neck. Even if they’d done this twenty times over it felt new. Maybe because Castiel wasn’t faking it, Dean didn’t seem to be. No, Dean wouldn’t.

“You’re picking me over your sister?”

He shook his head, “I’m choosing you over this Goddamn feud. If she wants to see past it and come find me, so be it. If not, then thats her problem.”

“God I love you,” Dean kissed him again, “You're not off the hook though, nuh-uh.”

Castiel wished he could show him off to his family, the ones who still held a grudge like Anna and Michael. Gabe is probably the only exception, and he would just initiate brutal teasing, not that he cared because he had him now, he had something to write home about. Which he would do quite literally uncaring of their opinions. Castiel smiled a little, "Oh, I'm not?"

“Nope, you're gonna make it up to me,” he went on when Castiel tilted his head, cocking his eyebrow because where they left off wasn’t too great and he dreaded what his forfeit would be. “You're gonna come with me,” Dean tugged him by the hands, "You're gonna lie your sleep-deprived ass down in my bed and you're gonna take a nap with me. Capiche?"

Castiel let out a breath and followed him, “You’re weird. Okay, yeah, I can do that.”

-

Dean insisted on going with Cas to pick up his stuff. Gabriel turned out to be awesome, if annoying at times. But Castiel seemed to like him more than his siblings. He certainly acted more brotherly than they did.

He stopped Castiel from putting his helmet on when he got back on the bike, fishing for his phone and murmuring something about a photo. Castiel ducked his head and protested, hiding his face, but Dean took his hands and placed them back on the handlebars.

He kissed his nape and said, “It’ll be our first real picture. Even your bike’s in it.”

So Gabriel grinned and backed away, Dean wound his arms around Castiels waist and his chin came to rest over his shoulder. Cas actually smiled for this photo and he was smiling at Dean. It reached his eyes too, and Dean grinned back genuinely. Gabriel took the photo and Cas dropped his hands, letting them go to Deans on his stomach.

“Was that so bad?”

“Yeah, my face was in it.”

Dean tutted at him, “Oh hush, you.”

His cousin made a retching noise and showed them the picture, “I’m sending this to you two and Anna. It’ll hack her off and she needs hacking off.”

Cas completely ignored him and shoved his helmet on, Dean gave Gabe a nod before Cas started the engine that made a thunderous noise compared to the Triumph Bonneville he liked to take on the street. He gave Gabriel a wave as the bike moved off, and Dean couldn’t help thinking that maybe for once in his life something might go right.

-

Anna opened up a text from their cousin, expecting it to be one of his usual jokes, ending up hoping it was one of his usual jokes. The message had a file attached, and the caption “I think he made his choice.”

Upon opening the file, she found a picture of Castiel on one of his ridiculous motorcycles. Only he had a man behind him with his arms around him and they were both smiling like idiots. It was the Winchester guy she opened the door to, the very same one she made him choose between. Which was ridiculous because Castiel was supposed to pick them.

She showed it to Michael and, irritated by how little he cared, started to rant about why he should care. Only to be cut off by her brother with “Oh for Gods sake, Anna will you shut up? I honestly don’t care!”

“You should,” she came back in her usual ‘I know better’ manner, “He’s your little brother!”

“Yes, and don’t you think he’s being far more grown up about this than we are? Than dad or even mother?” he glared at her, “Honestly, you would think you’re a fifth of your age.”

“But-“

“Anna!” he snapped, standing up from the sofa and towering over her, “I do not care, nor will I. Grow up!” And left with a mutter of ' _Spoiled brat_ ' and something Anna didnt care to repeat.

She settled for pouting in the direction he left instead, later sulking in her room. Having two older brothers who thought they knew best wasn’t as fun as the movies thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Within a Dark Woods is from:  
> “In the middle of the journey of our life I found myself within a dark woods where the straight way was lost.” - Dante   
> Do you see what I did there


End file.
